


Itsumo Hearts: The Legend of Kei Yamada

by Margaret Ann (Manderson)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Violence, Bullying, Choose Your Own Adventure, Choose Your Own Ending, Dating, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, High School, Japan, Japanese Culture, Manga & Anime, Novel, POV Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 14:43:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6288634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manderson/pseuds/Margaret%20Ann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every generation a hero rises to protect those around them and save the world. Loved by all but their enemies (who fear them, naturally), and particularly respected by the leaders of the world, these heroes bear the names we remember throughout all time.</p>
<p>You are not one of these heroes.</p>
<p>You are just Kei Yamada, a typical teenage boy living in one of the small towns near Tokyo. You are well into your second year at Sakurahi High School, and you are looking forward to graduating, even if you aren't yet sure what your goals are going to be. For the moment, you're content to coast along, doing enough to get by without raising the suspicions—and thus the expectations—of the adults around you. </p>
<p>But on the first day of the second term of your second year of high school, you run into four people who will change your life forever.</p>
<p>The prologue from my new novel, "Itsumo Hearts: The Legend of Kei Yamada," due out March 2016!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Itsumo Hearts: The Legend of Kei Yamada

Every generation a hero rises to protect those around them and save the world. Loved by all but their enemies (who fear them, naturally), and particularly respected by the leaders of the world, these heroes bear the names we remember throughout all time.

You are not one of these heroes.

You are just Kei Yamada, a typical teenage boy living in one of the small towns near Tokyo. You are well into your second year at Sakurahi High School, and you are looking forward to graduating, even if you aren’t yet sure what your goals are going to be. University, probably, but you currently have no idea what to study. For the moment, you’re content to coast along, doing enough to get by without raising the suspicions—and thus the expectations—of the adults around you.

On this particular morning, you are just about to start your second term at school. It’s been a long, relaxing summer, so you’re not entirely happy to be going back. With a yawn you disentangle yourself from the bed sheets and crawl into your uniform. Luckily you just need the short-sleeved dress shirt with the patch on the pocket and your typical uniform trousers. You yank on your socks and reach for your school bag, which is lying beside the simple wooden desk in your room. It’s been collecting dust since you raced through your summer homework at the beginning of vacation; you’re glad that, for once, you’re responsible enough to get that done early. Otherwise, you never would’ve had the time to catch up on sleep and video games that you typically forego during the school year.

In stocking feet you walk downstairs. You’re not going to be late—you’ve been getting yourself up and ready with time for food since you were in elementary school. Walking into the bright, well-appointed kitchen, you see your mother has already packed and wrapped up your bento box in its customary blue handkerchief. Your little sister’s lunch sits beside it in its pink handkerchief, no smaller in comparison to yours, despite her age. Your mother stands at the stove portioning out toast and eggs on plates, and your little sister sits at the table, her pigtails tied with ribbons and the sailor collar of her middle-school uniform crisp down her back. She swings her legs to and fro, chattering cheerfully about getting to see her friends again. Your dad is nowhere to be found; you suspect he’s already left to catch the train into Tokyo proper.

Your mom places a plate of toast and eggs in front of you—she knows Western-style breakfast food is your favorite. It isn’t long before you’re using your crust to sop up the last of the runny yolk and drinking the dregs of your sweet, milky coffee.

After you’ve eaten your fill, you thank your mother for the meal. Satchel and bento in tow, you head to the foyer to put on the plain brown loafers Sakurai High School requires all of its students to wear outside (inside, of course, you wear plain white canvas shoes). You shout a goodbye to your family and walk out your front door.

Just as you step out into the hazy, humid morning, you see a familiar figure stepping out from the gate of the house next door. It’s a young woman your age, dressed in a Sakurahi High School uniform. Her blouse and tie are neat, and her skirt is the proper length. She wears her regulation navy knee socks tugged all the way up to her knees, just as she is supposed to. Her soft, pink hair is held back with a black headband, the only kind approved by the school. The locks tumble playfully to her shoulders and down her back. She shuts her gate behind her, oblivious to your gaze. When she turns, however, she sees you immediately. She gasps softly, startled, then says, “Good morning!”

“Good morning, Miss Suzumi,” you reply, feeling the now-familiar blend of nostalgia and discomfort creep over you.

“You always call me that,” she chides gently. “Why don’t you call me ‘Natsumi’ or ‘Nat-chan’ like you used to when we were children?”

“Because we aren’t children anymore,” you stammer. Heat floods your face, and you immediately wish you were anywhere but standing in front of her. You may have chased her with lizards and played in the backyard together when you were younger, but something happened between you two in middle school. She suddenly grew up, began making friends with the popular girls, and turned into an intelligent, mature young woman. You still feel like a stupid kid next to her.

Her face falls hearing your comment. “Excuse me, then, Mr. Yamada,” she says stiffly. Her head held high she brushes past you and continues down the street. You watch her go, focusing on the way her skirt sways at the backs of her knees, and wish you weren’t such an idiot.

The road to school isn’t very long, and about halfway there you hear a familiar angry voice on one of the side streets. There is a vacant lot where a shop burned down a few years earlier, and the sidewalk in front of it is habitually the most hazardous part of your trek. You slow down and peek through a hole in the tall, wooden fence surrounding it.

A burly young man with bleached blond hair stands menacingly before a middle school student in an unfamiliar uniform. The boy is being held by a few of the blonde’s cronies, each of whom is pockmarked and unclean. The larger blond wears a Sakurahi High School uniform, but his shirt is wrinkled and the collar is open to the third button. A bunch of necklaces hang around his muscular throat, and he wears black leather fingerless gloves over each meaty palm.

_Ryū Oe_ , you think to yourself, flinching. The biggest bully and hoodlum at your school. He and his gang, the Red Dragons, are universally feared by all the local schoolchildren. They’re always harassing people, trying to take their stuff, and Ryū himself is in trouble more often than not. Rumor has it that the only reason he hasn’t been completely expelled is because his father is some sort of major businessman in the area. The nepotism of this rankles, particularly since Ryū is one of the most horrible people you’ve ever encountered.

Now, the bully’s scratchy voice flows over from where he hassles the kid. “I told you, Sado, that I’d loan you the money for those cards you wanted, didn’t I? Last week, when you found out that there would be a special edition one in the store?”

The kid is too terrified to even nod, and Ryū turns to his lackeys. “Didn’t I tell him that, boys?”

“Sure did, boss,” one of the guys holding Sado brays.

“Thought so. So yeah, I loaned you this money, and you said you’d pay me double next week. It’s ‘next week’ right now—and I want my money.”

“B-b-but I don’t have it yet! It’s Monday, and you only loaned it to me on Fri—oof!”

The boy slumps a little as Ryū’s fist connects with his midsection. “It’s next week right now! Someone needs to teach you some manners.” He draws back his fist again.

You close your eyes and dash across the opening in the fence just as you hear fist meet flesh once more. You hate being a coward, but it’s not your fight. Keeping your head down is key with Ryū. Don’t draw his attention and he won’t bother you. It’s something you learned back in kindergarten the hard way, and you’ve never been able to forget.

Luckily, that is the worst part of the walk. The next bit is   a straightforward jaunt along a major thoroughfare. You join up with your fellow classmates moving towards the school. As you’re walking past a coffee shop you see a girl in a Sakurahi High School uniform dash out of a café. “See you later!” she shouts, then crashes into you. The strap of her bag snaps, and it tumbles to the ground. Its contents spray in a dozen different directions. “Oh, crap!” she wails, tugging at one curly, lavender pigtail. “I’m going to be late!”

You squat down and begin helping to retrieve her books and supplies. In the corner of one of the papers you see her name: Hanako Hanase. You hand back the things you’ve collected, asking, “Are you okay?”

“Nothing hurt but my pride!” the young woman replies cheerfully. “I’m just a klutz sometimes. I’m sorry for bumping into you. Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine,” you reply, startled by her high spirits so early in the morning.

“Good.” She stands, stuffing a volume of a fantasy manga and a drawing board into her bag. She catches you looking at it and tilts her head to the side. “Do you know _Fantasy Girl Alternataria_?”

“I’ve heard of it,” you reply, regretting noticing her book.

Your fellow classmates seem to have filtered out of the crowd, and you know it must be getting on towards eight o’clock. You’d hate to be late on the first day back.

The girl looks at the patch on your pocket as you heft your satchel once more. “You go to Sakurahi High School, too?”

“I do.” You shift from one foot to the other, itching to go. Being late on the first day back would not only mean detention, but also a lecture from your homeroom teacher, and even possibly a visit with the head teacher. You’ve managed to stay out of trouble for tardiness this year, and you want to keep your record clean.

Her grin widens. “What year are you? I’m just in my first year, but I’d think I would’ve seen you if you were in my class.”

“It’s my second,” you respond tapping your foot. Then you blurt, “I need to get going.” Before you can turn away, you can see hurt flicker into her eyes. To soften the blow, you say, “The bell will be ringing soon.

“Oh! Right! Maybe I’ll see you later!” The girl, Hanako, takes off towards the school.

You follow.

Somehow you manage to make it inside the gate before the bell rings, and you’re slipping into your school shoes when your best friend, Taka Kazuki, drops his bag beside yours. The top button of his shirt is unbuttoned, his tie is loose, and his entire outfit smells faintly of the mothballs his housekeeper uses in the drawers when she puts his clothes away. His brown hair tumbles over his face, although the tips cling to his sun-bronzed skin via a layer of sweat. He stinks a little bit, but you imagine you do, as well. It’s pretty gross out this morning. “Geez,” he huffs. “Didn’t think I’d make it!”

“Me, neither,” you reply. “I thought you’d stay down at the beach for the rest of the year.”

“Ha! I wish. You should’ve seen the babes there this year. Miles of tanned flesh as far as the eye could see. And now I come back and I’m practically blinded by all the pale girls before me. And look at that one, man. She practically _glows_.”

You look up from the laces on your canvas shoes and see a breathtakingly beautiful girl walking towards the main office. Although it is summer, she wears the official Sakurahi High School sweater vest over her regulation blouse. Her inky hair is cut short, framing a heart-shaped face. You can’t see her eyes—she walked past you too quickly for you to catch them—but you imagine they’re mysterious and exotic. She’s tall, and her skirt, though the same length as every other girl’s, seems just a trifle shorter, a little bit naughtier. That uncomfortable heat comes over you once more, and you wonder what this school term might bring.

The warning bell rings, and Taka slaps your back. “C’mon, dude. Let’s go. Don’t want to be late.”

“Right,” you say, grabbing your bag. You glance in the direction of the mysterious beauty, then stand completely.

It’s going to be an interesting term, all right.


End file.
